Rant 101: It Starts Young

If you are a parent, and you're not respectable, why on earth should your children respect you? Because you coupled with someone and created another human being? If you are a giant piece of shit whose claim to fame is banging more dope in a 24-hour period than all your frenemies, you have no fucking right to be up in arms when your young teenager, who's seen IT ALL in their young life, clocks you in the face and tells you they'll kill you if you ever touch them again. When that kid has seen you beat up their mom/their siblings all their life; when they know what it feels like to have bruises and emotional scars for having the nerve to be in their house; when you have never given them a second of honest affection - how can you demand they love and trust you, and above all, MIND YOU.

How can a kid respect such a stupid person? A person who didn't plan to have a family, but, whoops - the babies just happened. Or, my life sucks, so let's bring a child into this situation. A person who demands you respect them because THEY MADE YOU, you wouldn't be here because of them, in this fine, lovely, warm-and-fucking-fuzzy life they've given you. When a good night in the house is the only night both of the parents are gone - maybe with their very-important-friends, but you are not allowed to have friends because YOU ARE A CHILD. I CAN HAVE THESE FRIENDS BECAUSE I MADE YOU. I can have friends who leer at you, I can have friends with obscene criminal backgrounds, I can have friends who are STUPIDLIKEME because my child/ren don't have the right to care who I surround myself/them with. You have to feed yourself (I bought the fucking food, can't you cook it?), clothe yourself (if you don't like your 3 sizes too small clothes, fuck you!) and survive without any real humanity. And to top the shit off, YOU HAVE TO LIVE WITH ME. What a revelation.

I see this theme so often, and it hits close to home. My parents didn't bang dope, but they are/were stupid, stupid people, and I feel lots of empathy for these kids who are just trying to grow up so they can get the hell out. If their parents weren't narcissists to begin with, their addictions made them so. I'm a little tired of people using their, "I'm sick. It's a sickness." It might be a sickness, and it's not a fucking excuse.

That goes for your straight narcissists, too. No excuse.

Quit making babies you can't give love to. Just quit. You can't raise them, and you don't have any right to tell them how to raise themselves if you can't even wipe your own ass without a map.

What to Name It?

It's been four months since NC with the mother. I haven't missed her a bit.

I've been continuing with meditation and trying to heal myself. I've been immersing in things I enjoy, especially genealogy. My latest kick is DNA genealogy, and in the spirit, I did a DNA test to try to track down some family history. I then uploaded my raw data to a website that scans it and lets you know if there are any red flags. Turns out that, genetically, anyway, I have two mutations that are known to cause hemochromatosis, an excess of iron buildup in the body. I'm waiting for the blood tests to come back to see if I am affected, and now the burden is on me to contact all my aunts & uncles to let them know they may have this genetic thing. Oh, yeah, I've got to tell my mother, too.

So, I'm sticking with a looser version of the form letter I found on the CDC website to inform family members. They're getting a letter. I greatly fear that when mother gets her letter, she will take it as an invitation to start up again. So, I'm panicky and keep putting off sending the letters.

It's a test. I made it four months and now I'm being forced to approach the gates and whistle to see if the dogs come a-runnin'. I'm arming myself with pepper spray and a fight-or-flight prep, and I don't want to have to do this. Ssshhhhhhhhit.

It's Good

Since I sent the "gift" back to mother a month and a half ago, I haven't had contact with her. She has sent Christmas and birthday cards to my little boy and not to my older son, presumably because she feels she should do her best to make the youngest see her in a favorable light. My husband has opened these cards for the little one and screened them. It is so friggin' freeing to be able to envision an NC life. I can really feel how amazing NC is. A life without being gaslighted, sabotaged, lied to, corrupted, isolated, and inappropriately controlled is sweet.

It wasn't that long ago I was defending her and in denial about her manipulations. In a biblical phrase, which appropriate for her bible-thumping ways, "For now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face..." (1 Corinthians 13:12) She used to say how she preferred the King James version, but I couldn't speak as to her preference now that she can't shove her beliefs down my throat.

I can just BE.

Love

I want to let the N-survivors know that you are part of my family of choice - honest communication, no strings to strangle on. Although I don't identify with mainstream religion, I find myself getting a bit maudlin around the edges this holiday season. If you were at the N-free holiday party in my mind, you would probably get pics of me that would vary from mildly embarrassing to career-changing, and I'd be good with that. Here's to another year of moving forward. Love ya :)

And It Continues in the Grand Tradition

Last night when I got home, I picked through my mail. One of the packages was a largeish priority mail, and I thought it was my shipment of tea, so I ripped into it. When I peeked inside, there was a package wrapped in gift wrap. Without taking the package out of the mailer, I flipped the mailer over and looked at the handwriting on the back. Fuck. That's mom's handwriting. Then I think, well, maybe she's sending an early Christmas present for my little one. So I pull the package out and find a "To Bessie, with Love, Mom" sticker on the side.

I'm not opening that shit for anything. It's going back to her unopened and with a note telling her that I don't want gifts, I want to be left alone. The more distance I get from her, the more keenly I feel the manipulation when it occurs. I haven't talked to her for months, since before the letter communications, and I haven't communicated anything to her between my post where she sent me the flowery/snide birthday card. Now she's sending me a gift-wrapped present by mail? So, I'm like a 4-year-old who she can lure back to her fold with some gift? Also, the passive-aggressiveness that goes along with this burns my ass. I haven't talked Christmas at all with her or my DS, so this lets me know she believes she won't see me at Christmas. If you're not going to see me at Christmas (which I know, and obviously she knows), send my kids something, asshole. Don't give me shit. I'm insulted, and I see how much she doesn't fucking know me at all.

Well-Written

Where were you when I was burned and broken
While the days slipped by from my window watching
Where were you when I was hurt and helpless
Because the things you say and the things you do surround me
While you were hanging yourself on someone else's words
Dying to believe in what you heard
I was staring straight into the shining sun

Lost in thought and lost in time
While the seeds of lifeand the seeds of change were planted
Outside the rain fell dark and slow
While I pondered on this dangerous but irresistible pastime
I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the moment had arrived
For killing the past and coming back to life

I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the waiting had begun
And headed straight..into the shining sun


-David Gilmour of Pink Floyd

F'n Grrrr

No response to my most recent letter to mother, but yesterday a birthday card...pink envelope with flower stickers all over it. Curiosity killed the cat. I opened it. The card was the usual flowery stuff, and on the inside she wrote, "No matter what you may think of me, please know I love you very much."

Why does this infuriate me so much?

I feel like this negates my emotions once again. She loves me even though I'm wrong? Gah. Your takes?